


Cleanup

by rinwins



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Gen, Injury, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 18:58:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinwins/pseuds/rinwins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Doc Scratch is casually judgmental and Snowman bleeds on the furniture, or, a bit of domestic villain nonsense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cleanup

You are sitting in the study in Doc Scratch’s apartment.

It’s not your favorite place to pass the time, given its tendency to contain Doc Scratch, but it’s quiet and clean and almost no one else- for obvious reasons- comes in here. Which makes it an excellent place to sit down and patch up your wounds. Which is what you’re currently doing.

Theoretically you could just have Stitch fix you up, like he does the rest of the gang. If you didn’t mind having an effigy of yourself sitting around. Which, for obvious reasons, you _do_. Better to do it yourself.

Which is why you’re here.

You inspect your injuries. There are a surprising number of them, although most of them are too shallow to have bled much. And then there’s your back. You don’t care to think about the state of your back. As much as you hate to admit it, Slick got the better of you this time.

It’s probably for the best. If he didn’t beat you occasionally, he might stop trying. And you can’t have _that_.

You entertain a few hateful thoughts while you clean up the worst of the cuts. Next time, you think, you’ll show him a thing or two with those knives he likes so much. And a few tricks of your own, of course. You’ve already thought of three new ones to try. Blue blood drips onto the desk you’re perched on- Scratch won’t be happy about that. You’re fairly sure you don’t care.

Right on cue, you hear the door to the adjacent room. What a weirdo. Has omnipotent space-warping powers, gets some kind of thrill off using _doors_ instead. You count two seconds to the soft disapproving noise, then six more before the study door opens and Scratch comes in holding your coat.

He doesn’t have eyes, of course, but something tells you if he did he’d be averting them. Or possibly rolling them at you. “Use my rooms as your personal hospital if you must,” he sighs, “but you could at least try not to leave your clothing everywhere.”

You ignore him for another moment. You’re working at a tricky angle on this last scrape. Scratch makes another of his quiet ‘tsk’ noises, drapes your coat carefully over the back of a chair, and links his hands behind his back. “Well,” he says, “what unnecessary scrape did you get into this time?”

“As if you don’t know.” That’s the last of the cuts you can reach. “What do you use that head for, knocking into things?”

“If you didn’t run around with that hooligan-”

You shoot him a smirk. “Jealous, Doc?”

“What a ridiculous assertion.” You can practically see him bristling. “I am expressing a completely justified level of concern for your safety. I cannot approve of this dangerous impropriety.”

“Lucky for me,” you say, “I don’t need you to. Think you can help me while you disapprove?”

He makes an irritated sound at you, but he takes his own jacket off and hangs it next to yours. When he sees your back, he lets out a different sound. If you didn’t know better you’d think it was one of shock. “How did-”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes. “You _know_ how.”

“But you would have had to be-”

“ _Yes_. Now will you get on with it?”

He does. He murmurs to himself as he works, a running narration you can’t quite focus on. You wonder if he does that on purpose. Then another painful sting makes you lose that thought too. You hiss out a curse. You didn’t give Slick the satisfaction, not even while he was cutting the lines through your shell, but if you gave a damn what Scratch thinks of you you wouldn’t be here.

Scratch is efficient and surprisingly gentle, and you find yourself cursing less than you expected to as he cleans the cuts. “Hm,” he says, after a while. “This won’t bandage well.” He doesn’t even suggest you go to Stitch. At least that’s one point in his favor.

You shrug. “Could have told you that myself. Think it’ll scar?” you add. You _know_ your voice sounds casual.

Behind you, Scratch sighs, doing the best he can with the bandages. You’re willing to bet it’s still pretty damn good. “Really, Snowman,” he says, “why do you let him do this to you?”

“Well, when someone has a piano string around your-”

“That is _not_ what I meant,” he says, and you’re secretly a little proud of the sudden edge of flustered panic in his voice. “You could have phased out.”

You debate telling him that if you do that, you both lose that round. Or that when Spades Slick makes up his mind to do something there’s not much point trying to prevent him. Or that sometimes you need the hurt, and these days Slick is the only one who hates you enough- or who’s crazy enough- to try it. You like to think it’s all more complicated than it sounds. You’re also pretty sure that, if you tried to explain it, it wouldn’t be.

Instead you give another shrug. It pulls at your wounds a bit, but it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it could. “Maybe next time,” you say.

“If there is a next time.” Scratch presses the last bandage into place. “There. That will hold long enough, unless you do anything-”

“Improper?” you finish. You turn around, swinging your legs over the corner of the desk so you can face him. “Doc, have you ever hated someone? So much you would destroy yourself if you could take them down with you?”

He studies you for several moments. At least you think he’s studying you. It’s impossible to tell with that featureless head. “No,” he says at last, “I wouldn’t say I have ever felt that kind of emotion.”

Of course he wouldn’t say that, the smug cryptic bastard. You lean forward, into his space. He doesn’t move back. “Then maybe you don’t understand this,” you say. “There will always be a next time.”

“Well, then, next time,” says Scratch, as calm as ever, “find somewhere else to clean up.”


End file.
